You probably remember that Bent Barrow Farm abuts the Samish Headwaters where a budding river-to-be forms out of converging creeks and seasonal marshland. It's a terribly romantic place to live, especially this time of year. Innis Creek Road is taken over, at least seasonally, by Ennis Creek (no, I'm not wrong—they're spelled differently. This is due, I'd guess, to the inattention of some paper-pusher). The eagles come home, roosting by the dozens in our tallest snags. Salmon, fighting their way upstream to spawn and die, attract opportunistic herons and hawks while snow geese merely pass through, their wings humming like an intense electrical current. The redwinged blackbirds whirr and chirrup, the beavers slap, and the peregrine falcons keen and wail.
The other good news: these teeming birds of prey are so completely satisfied by the river's abundant frogs and fish that they leave our cats, chickens, and itty-bitty dog well alone. We've not yet lost a resident to eagle attack.
While I, Fenway Bartholomule, am known for the drama and the volume of my singing voice, I admit today to having been upstaged. In January, this marsh is louder than a mule.